Falling into the Fire

Blake

The clubhouse was loud that night, the kind of loud that seeped into your bones. Laughter, music, bottles clinking, boots stomping to songs that never made it to the radio. For most people in here, it was comfort—a second home built on chaos. For Lucy, though, it was a battlefield. I could see it in every twitch of her shoulders, every dart of her eyes.

She sat at the bar, clutching that glass of water like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Didn’t matter that half the room was watching her. She didn’t shrink all the way down, though. That caught me. Most would’ve folded under the weight of those stares. Not her. She stayed. She endured.

I leaned against the bar beside her, my own beer sweating in my hand. Kept my body angled just enough that anyone thinking about trying her again would have to go through me first.

She hadn’t asked me to do that. Hell, she probably didn’t even want it. But I couldn’t shake the way Riker had looked at her—like she was prey.

“Girl’s not cut out for this place,” a voice muttered at my back.

I didn’t have to turn to know it was Crow, one of our older boys. Always watching, always testing.

“She’s not staying,” I said, taking a drink.

“Then why bring her here?”

I didn’t answer. Truth was, I didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t know how to put words to that moment on the road when I’d seen her and couldn’t ride past.

Crow chuckled under his breath and moved on. He wouldn’t push it. Not now.

I stole a glance at Lucy. She caught me watching and quickly looked away, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. Her hands tightened on the glass, knuckles pale.

Whoever had hurt her had taught her to make herself small, invisible. The thought stirred something dark in me. I’d seen women broken by fists, by words, by men who thought possession was love. That look in her eyes was too familiar.

I took another swallow of beer and forced myself to look away. She didn’t need me crowding her. Didn’t need me adding weight to what she already carried.

Still, I kept her in my peripheral vision.

The night dragged on. Brothers came and went, deals whispered in corners, laughter breaking into shouts and back again. Lucy stayed quiet, her water glass barely touched, like drinking too much might make her lose her grip.

After a while, she turned on the stool, watching the room the way I was. Studying. Measuring. I wondered what she saw—monsters, maybe, or men she couldn’t tell apart.

“You holding up?” I asked, voice low enough only she could hear.

Her shoulders jerked, like she hadn’t expected me to speak. “I’m fine.”

The lie was thin. But she needed it, so I let it stand.

“You won’t get any trouble now,” I told her.

She shot me a quick glance, skeptical. “Because you scared them.”

“Because they know better.”

She didn’t argue, but the way she pressed her lips together told me she didn’t buy it. Didn’t matter. She’d learn.

I thought she’d ask more, maybe about me, maybe about the club. But she went quiet again.

When midnight came, the clubhouse thinned. A few of the brothers stumbled off with women who weren’t going to remember their names. Others crashed in back rooms or rode out into the dark.

I stayed, anchored in my spot beside her. Couldn’t leave her there. Couldn’t take her home either—not when I didn’t know what the hell “home” even meant for her.

“You tired?” I asked finally.

She blinked, then nodded, slow, cautious.

“There’s a spare room upstairs. Door locks from the inside. No one’ll bother you.”

Her brows pulled together. “Why?”

“Because you need sleep. And because it’s safer than the road.”

She studied me, weighing the words like she didn’t trust the ground they stood on. But eventually, she gave a small nod.

I led her upstairs, down a hall lined with doors. Most were shut, muffled voices and laughter spilling behind them. I stopped at the last one, opened it, and stepped aside.

The room was plain—bed, dresser, nothing else. But the sheets were clean, and the lock was solid.

“You’ll be all right in here,” I said.

She hovered in the doorway, not stepping inside yet. “And you?”

“I’ll be downstairs.”

Her eyes searched mine, looking for the catch, the angle. I let her look.

Finally, she nodded and slipped inside. The door clicked shut, the lock turning.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the wood between us. Something in me wanted to knock, to tell her she didn’t have to be so scared. But I didn’t. She wouldn’t believe me anyway.

Back downstairs, the noise had dulled, the air heavy with smoke and stale beer. I sat at the bar, finished my drink, and lit a cigarette.

I told myself she was just another lost soul I’d happened across. Told myself I’d keep her safe tonight, then let her go on her way tomorrow.

But deep down, I already knew I was lying.

Because Lucy wasn’t like the others.

And that scared me more than anything.